


In Pursuit of Clear Blue

by Bloodsbane



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Caretaking, Gen, Human/Monster Romance, M/M, Magic, Minor Georgie Barker/Melanie King, Monster Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Monsters, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Slow Burn, Witches
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-08
Updated: 2021-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-15 06:15:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29929137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bloodsbane/pseuds/Bloodsbane
Summary: In the smoldering remains of Jonah Magnus' estate, a coven of witches discovers a strange creature trapped within a summoning circle — an Archivist, weakened from imprisonment and neglect. In an effort to rehabilitate the Archivist, the coven sends him off to be taken under the care of one Martin Blackwood, a witch who has earned himself a reputation for dealing with all manner of magical creatures.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood & Alice "Daisy" Tonner, Martin Blackwood & Basira Hussain, Martin Blackwood & Peter Lukas, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 28
Kudos: 152





	1. The Discovery of The Archivist

**Author's Note:**

> I've decided, in honor of TMA Fantasy Week, to post the first three chapters of this fic! It's something I was working on very enthusiastically, only to become sidetracked by, among other things, my current ongoing fic [The Taste of Midnight.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28715247/chapters/70403886) Once that fic is wrapped up, though, I would really like to return to this project. There are seven chapters already written, but I don't plan on posting anything more until TTOM is finished and I've written more of a backlog. So, yeah, you'll just be getting one chapter on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday! After that, I'll mark this fic as being on-hold. 
> 
> But if you like what you see in these first three chapters, I'd recommend subscribing so you know when the story eventually gets picked up again~ 
> 
> It's been a long while, but more than a few people beta-read this fic back when I was focused on it - thank you to anyone who did! Also, if I'm remembering correctly, the original concept for this fic (where Martin is a caretaker for various sorts of monsters) was inspired by a bunny originally pitched by Zyka. So kisses for Zyka! 
> 
> Minor content warnings in the end notes. Hope you enjoy~

They find him in the charred remains of the mansion, half-buried under rubble and ashes. The summoning circle, powerful as it was, must have been what spared him from the fire. 

It’s hard to tell what he is, at first. When the witches arrive, he’s little more than a dark stain in the center of the circle. The smoke slowly curling from his form is easily mistaken for that of the surrounding fire. One of them, thoughtlessly, assumes he’s some burned artifact and steps closer to get a better look. 

The second they’ve stepped past the glowing blue border, half-hidden under the soot and debris, he shifts and churns and comes for them. He moves like a shadow in the dark, inky and smooth and misshapen. A fellow witch reacts just quickly enough to pull her companion out of the circle, where the creature smacks up against an invisible barrier. It sparks bright green on contact and the being trapped inside emits a burst of electric sound, a distorted wail of misery. 

Gertrude, Mother of their local coven, has to be brought to untangle the spells keeping him bound in the summoning circle. It takes a full day to undo Jonah Magnus’ work. Then, as soon as she’s ready to unravel it completely, Gertrude takes the extra precaution of sealing him away in a container made of crystal. He’s docile enough in there, a smear of smoke and ash fluttering around in its new prison. 

It takes nearly a week for them to correctly identify his species. Archivists are ancient beasts and, being creatures of the Eye, they tended to keep to themselves. Gertrude is the oldest among them and even she has never seen an Archivist in her time. Though they find enough to reach an agreement on what he is, further research offers little else in the way of helpful information. Old stories speak of Archivists — shadows that come at night, stealing into the bedrooms of unsuspecting people to haunt their dreams and feed on their fear. Some books describe Archivists as a nomadic sort of creature, endlessly traveling the world to collect secret information. Their affinity means they are often mere observers, and to share the knowledge or secrets they’ve learned is against their nature. 

It paints a dark picture, one that leaves Gertrude somber. She felt no love for Jonah, and now, she feels no remorse for his death. If the wizard was so far gone as to abuse the powers of an ancient creature, to imprison such a rare specimen in order to steal knowledge for his own selfish desires, perhaps it is better for everyone that the fire took him. 

Once they’ve learned all they can, there is the issue of the Archivist’s rehabilitation. Even before his species was identified, it was obvious to all how weak he was, little more than a wisp crawling pitifully in his crystal. He couldn’t even manifest any eyes, one of the few well-documented aspects of his kind. 

Eventually one of the witches found what they so desperately needed to begin his return to health: Archivists fed exclusively on new knowledge. Jonah must have been starving him, or leaving him to survive on scraps, all the while manipulating the creature to reveal what it knew about secret magic. 

So, slowly, carefully, Gertrude had witches take the crystal and feed its prisoner bits of information — small personal details, things he couldn’t possibly know. Once it was determined that one could safely supply an Archivist with new information without losing the knowledge themselves, they were willing to feed him a bit more. Very gradually, his condition seemed to improve.

Soon enough, his care was put in the hands of one Georgie Barker, a skilled warlock touched by the power of the End. Her ability to craft defensive wards was unmatched by all in the area, and so she was deemed suitable for the custody and care of the Archivist. 

It was a rough few months for them both, at the start. Once he was freed from his container, the Archivist did all he could to escape. Georgie was forced to keep him confined to a single room, blocking it off from the rest of her home, so he could be safely fed and observed through the doorway. 

The only saving grace for either of them was Georgie’s familiar, the Admiral, a huge feline on his fifth life. As the only other living creature who could willfully ignore and pass through Georgie’s wards, he had no problem visiting the Archivist at his leisure, and it seemed his company was the only sort that the Archivist was interested in keeping. As time went on, Georgie saw her familiar spending more and more time in that room with their new houseguest, and as the Archivist’s power slowly started to grow, she would often catch him in the form of something cat-like, curled up close to the Admiral. 

Eventually there came an evening, when Georgie was seated just outside the door, recounting to her guest the tale of how she’d been Marked by her power, that the Archivist crept close and whispered, “Thank you.”

It was a little easier, after that. Bit by bit, the Archivist grew. The more he spoke, the more ground Georgie yielded, allowing him to explore other parts of her home during the day, when she was around. The Admiral helped keep an eye on him as well, but there was never any serious trouble. By this point, it seemed the Archivist was more interested in keeping the peace and allowing himself to be nursed back to health than escaping the custody of the coven. 

Georgie learned his name one night. “Jon,” whispered the dark cat-like thing on her couch. At long last, he was strong enough to manifest an eye, and it blinked at Georgie from across the room, bright and purple and strangely intense. “That is what I’m called.” 

Yet, for all their progress, there were still issues. Georgie had to be careful, for the Archivist seemed to have an intensely distrusting personality. He had to be locked in his room whenever Georgie had company, and he was always an absolute terror for the subsequent days. He would inspect every inch of the house available to him and shun Georgie with a vengeance, as if she had somehow betrayed him. He would hide from her wherever he could to avoid her offerings of knowledge. Sometimes he would even throw fits, knocking things over as he raced about the house like an unruly cat. 

The Admiral could soothe him sometimes, but even Jon’s obvious affection for the familiar wasn’t enough to brighten up his disposition. Eventually Georgie had enough; she had work she couldn’t do with an unstable, ill-tempered magical creature around, and she couldn’t stay around him all the time in order to observe his behavior. Neither did she have the resources he needed to really get better — a wealth of new information to feed from, room to move about in, things to see or people to meet. There was little enrichment to be found in the warlock’s humble abode. 

And so, after a long discussion with Gertrude, it was decided a new host would be found to keep the Archivist while he returned to his full strength. Georgie wondered which of the other magic folk would be chosen for the job. To her surprise, Gertrude didn’t choose anyone from their coven, or even from one nearby. 

“There’s a witch,” she explained to Georgie one evening, “a young man, who lives a few days away. His mother belongs to one of the other covens. He’s known for running into a lot of… unusual magical creatures, and even taking custody and care of them.”

This wasn’t a totally unique occupation, but Gertrude seemed mildly impressed by the man’s exploits, and Georgie had to admit her interest was piqued. Anyone who caught Gertrude’s attention and impressed her enough to be offered such an important job must be quite a skilled magic user indeed.


	2. Martin Blackwood, Witch in Training, Healer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Georgie travels with her partner, Melanie, to deliver the Archivist to Martin Blackwood. They meet the witch and a few of his monstrous housemates.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks once again to those who beta'd this chapter.

Melanie comes along, of course. Unlike Georgie, she’s heard of the witch they’re traveling to see.

“They say he’s very powerful,” Melanie explains on their ride. The Admiral keeps an easy pace alongside their horses, while Melanie’s familiar remains hidden in her satchel. “Mostly keeps to himself in that cottage of his, and sends out his monsters to do his bidding.”

“Really?”

“Yeah! Rumor is he’s some sort of, I dunno, monster-charmer or something,” Melanie says, and she sounds incredulous, but there’s a flare in her eyes that Georgie has come to know well. She’s deeply interested in this witch, whether or not his reputation is well-earned. “I’ve heard he’s even got a Hound that guards his house.” 

“No way! A real Hound? What kind?”

“Not sure. I’ve heard someone say it was a bear before, but others say it’s more like some big cat.” 

Georgie can only shake her head. Dealing with a Hound is not safe or sane, in her opinion. They’re dangerous creatures borne of the Hunt, ever-thirsty for their kill. Whether they remain self-aware or have their minds broken, reduced to a well-disciplined, feral servant, they’re one of the least amicable creatures to be dealt with. 

“Not sure I can trust the judgement of someone who willingly keeps a Hound for a pet,” Georgie says, “but Gertrude put in a good enough word for this guy, I guess.”

“I’m sure he can handle your little shadow,” Melanie says with a smirk. 

Poor Jon. Georgie might not want him in her house anymore, but still, she imagines it must be difficult. First he was kept by Jonah for who knows how long, imprisoned in that wicked summoning circle. Then he’d been shoved into a crystal and quarantined once more in the house of another magic user. Now he was being handed off again, left for someone else to deal with. It wasn’t enough for Georgie to reconsider, but even now, she fingered the crystal hanging from her neck with some small measure of guilt. She made a promise to herself, then, that she would personally check up on the Archivist if all went well. 

It only takes two days of travel to reach their destination. Melanie’s enthusiasm starts flagging the last day or so, but it’s swiftly rekindled at the sight of the cottage. 

Georgie has to admit it’s an impressive sight. About an hour’s walk from the nearby village, there came a break in the woodland. Trees part to reveal a huge, circular clearing. It’s at least 200 meters wide from one end to the other, and at the very center stands a large cottage. 

It has an interesting shape to it, silhouetted in the light of late morning. The sun rises up behind it, and Georgie has a hard time discerning many details. It’s at least three stories high, and includes what appears to be a tower built into one corner. The tower, unlike the main body of the cottage, is clearly stonework. The topmost story seems to be made from a completely different wood than the first two levels, leaving Georgie to assume it had been added later. 

There are many more things surrounding the house, plants and small structures, but for some reason Georgie can’t really tell what they were. Sure, they’re a good distance away, but the field is nearly devoid of any other trees or high foliage. “Cloaking spell?” Melanie asks the empty air around them. 

“If I had to guess,” Georgie replies. She gets off her horse and helps Melanie dismount, then they both tie their steeds to a tree. Melanie inspects a nearby signpost while Georgie casts a ward around their horses to keep them safe from any wandering thieves or animals. 

“Come look at this!” Melanie waves Georgie over and points to the sign. It reads: _Home of Martin Blackwood, Witch in Training, Healer_. Attached to the sign is a small note, nailed at the bottom. Melanie grips one edge and tilts it up to read, “If you are in possession of creatures that require care or sanctuary, please stand at the edge of the boundary and call for Peter, who will escort you.” 

“What boundary?”

“The clearing, I guess?” 

Georgie strugs, looking down at the grass under their feet. There isn’t much to see out here, dirt and rocks and little flowers growing in patches. Then Georgie notices something about the grass nearby. “Oh, hey, wait. This isn’t normal soil right here.”

“Hm?”

Georgie takes a few steps closer and kneels down, cautiously inspecting her find. “It’s not dirt, it’s sand.” 

“Sand? All the way out here?”

“Yeah. Look, there are even shells.”

There are indeed shells, tiny ones, half-hidden where sand met grass. In fact, now that she’s closer, Georgie thinks she can hear a distant sound… Something repetitive and light, flitting against the edge of her senses. She stands up and takes Melanie’s hand in her own, frowning into the empty field ahead of them. 

“You’re right,” Melanie says in a tense voice. She must notice the sound too, then. “There’s a trail of sand going all along the edge here, you can just barely see it. Is it a ward?”

“I’m not sure, actually,” Georgie says in a quiet voice. She’s usually very good at identifying wards and cloaking spells. This, however, is something else entirely. “It might be more like… a fairy ring.” 

“What?” 

“It’s hiding things,” Georgie explains. “Or keeping things out.” 

“You’re not supposed to step into fairy rings, right?”

Georgie smiles and nods. She’s been dating Melanie for just under a year now, and there’s still a lot her companion has yet to learn about magic. She’d grown up cityside and hadn’t been born with magic. It wasn’t until later that she, like Georgie, was marked by a power. 

Possibly sensing his partner’s nervousness, Melanie’s familiar finally peeks from her satchel. The vulture tilts its head at Melanie, inquiring. 

“We’re fine, boy,” Melanie immediately offers, then squeezes Georgie’s hand in return as she calls out, “Hello? Is there a Peter we can speak to?” 

For a long moment, there’s only silence. Then Georgie realizes it’s not only that no one replied — there’s a distinct absence of sound. No birds singing or trees rustling behind them. Even Melanie, standing right next to her, seems far away, her breathing muted. Georgie takes a step closer to her girlfriend and reaches for the Admiral, who sits with the horses. He’s soon at her side, warm against her hip while they wait. 

Gradually, a dense fog begins to appear. From where, Georgie isn’t sure. Nowhere, honestly; it only seems to rise from the ground, slow and thick. It obscures the entirety of the clearing, cottage and all, until only that thin strip of sand and shells is visible at their feet. Georgie hears the aching, lonely cry of seagulls. There’s that sound again, which she now recognizes to be that of an endless ocean tide. 

“I’ve heard of this before,” Melanie whispers. She still sounds too far away. “It’s called a Myst, I think. They make you lose things, or get lost.” 

“A Lonely creature?”

“I think so.”

Just then, Georgie spots a pale shadow in the fog. It’s roughly the size and shape of a person, tall with broad shoulders, but all other details keep… shifting. One moment she thinks she sees clothes or hair, but then the fog gets too thick again and there are no discerning features at all. A voice comes to them, floating slowly over, as if carried on the waves. “What’s your business?”

“We’ve come to speak with Martin Blackwood,” Melanie answers, perhaps a bit sharply. Georgie squeezes her hand but doesn’t interrupt. “We’ve got a monster for him to deal with.”

“Is that so?” asks the Myst. “And what monster is that?”

Georgie shifts her weight, reluctant to step forward into the ring, but hoping to draw its attention to her now. “It’s called an Archivist,” she explains, “and we’re keeping him in this crystal for now. Do you have to see him to let us through?”

For a second, there is no reply. The mist grows even thicker and the figure slowly disappears, impossible to make out. Yet its voice still comes to them, light and almost amused, “Just a moment, if you please!” 

They give him a moment, standing close, waiting on the edge of something a little bigger than either of them could have expected. The cold is beginning to seep to their side of the ring. Georgie feels Melanie and the Admiral both shiver against her. Melanie’s familiar retreats back into her bag. 

Then, quite abruptly, a hand reaches out to them from the fog. Melanie takes a half step back before catching herself, then glares at the hand. It’s a human’s hand, but the skin is much too pale, deathly white and smooth like marble. The hand wears a tattered fingerless glove in a deep color, made darker with moisture, and the ragged cuff of a soaked coat sleeve drips water into the sand. “He’ll see you. Come along then. Follow my footsteps and don’t get lost… You might find something you won’t like. Or she’ll find you.” 

The hand does not wait for them, retreating into the fog, until all unique features are once again scrubbed away, leaving only an unsteady shape. Melanie huffs and grumbles under her breath, but she follows close behind Georgie as the other warlock steps into the ring. 

The ground beneath her is obviously not sand, yet all around Georgie can hear the sea. Waves continue to churn against an unseen shore. All around, in the far distance, are the cries of birds and the shriek of a high wind. Moisture in the air around her tastes of salt, and Georgie has to actively resist the urge to lick it from her lips. She focuses only on the sound of footsteps ahead of her, crunching softly as if they traveled in sand, crushing tiny shells beneath heavy boots. 

About halfway through their walk, though it feels like much too long already, Georgie senses something else nearby. She nearly stops, wanting to focus, to figure out what’s out there, but the Admiral butts her from behind and encourages her to keep moving. She can feel that he’s wary, too, that he knows something is out there. Melanie’s hand is like a vice in her’s. 

Then, abruptly, they’re not in the fog anymore. The grass is lush and green beneath their feet as they step into a vibrant garden. Small trees and shrubs border a stone path leading up to the cottage. There are pots and plots full of various herbs growing all over the place. 

“Oh thank the gods,” Melanie gasps, falling against Georgie’s side. “Were the dramatics really necessary?” 

Georgie opens her mouth to say something — crack a joke, perhaps, to ease her partner’s nerves — but then something else emerges from the fog just behind Melanie. It’s a huge feline creature, hunched, dragging its paws along the grass as it moves past them. Georgie has seen a Hound before. They aren’t of her power, but when one serves the End of All, well, there’s plenty of overlap, especially with the more violent creatures. While most Hounds are canine species, like their Hellhound ancestors, there are always exceptions. This one is indeed more of a large cat, as Melanie had theorized, though Georgie isn’t sure of the species. It’s spotted, with large, powerful paws and long, black-tipped ears. Almost every inch of it is criss-crossed with scars, most of them hidden beneath its fur; one dominates its back and left shoulder — a huge starburst, one that’s ruined the skin and left it barren. 

The Hound settles nearby, resting on its haunches, forepaws crossing unnaturally as the creature stares them down. 

“Oh, gods,” Melanie says blankly, staring back. “That thing is going to eat us.”

“No it’s not,” Georgie says, putting an arm around Melanie and holding her close. 

“That’s the biggest fucking cat I’ve ever seen, and I know the Admiral!” 

The Admiral purrs in good nature. Georgie’s half tempted to send him over first, see if he can somehow communicate with the Hound, but in that moment the cottage door slams open and a voice calls out to them. “Hello! Hi- oh, gods, I’m so sorry to keep you both waiting- Daisy! Daisy, it’s okay, you can, um. Leave them be.” 

The Hound doesn’t move, merely twitches one ear to follow the sound of the witch as he runs down the path to meet them. 

He isn’t what Georgie was expecting. She can feel, instantly, that his magic isn’t nearly as powerful as his current occupation would imply. He is a witch no doubt — she can feel the Lonely on him, not so dissimilar from the fog they’d just walked through, how it’s carried along on shoulders like an old, well-loved blanket. There’s something else there, too, something very at odds with his natural affinity, but Georgie ignores it for now. 

The man is taller than Georgie and Melanie, but something about his soft build and eager disposition makes him seem very young, and not intimidating at all. His long, light-brown hair is pulled into a loose horsetail. Beneath a deep green shawl, Georgie sees the homely clothes of a common villager, or perhaps an apprentice. Everything about him is completely unassuming, even his calm brown eyes.

“I apologize if Daisy gave you a fright,” says the man, waving a hand and standing, in Georgie’s opinion, much too close to the Hound. “She’s- well, she’s, um… She won’t hurt you! She just likes to keep an eye on things, you know…”

He looks over his shoulder, offering the Hound a nervous smile. She glances at him but does nothing else, that heavy, distrusting gaze solid on the two warlocks. It sort of reminds Georgie of Jon, and the thought spurs her forward. She offers the man a smile and a simple bow, something quick and formal to show good will. There isn’t a lot of etiquette between witches, especially when they aren’t in the same coven, but it never hurts to be polite. “There was no trouble, Mr. Blackwood. My name is Georgie Barker and this is my companion, Melanie King. I was told you had been sent a letter from Ms. Robinson?” 

“Yes, yes,” Martin says, stepping forward as well. He returns the bow, though to Georgie’s surprise, he dips a bit farther. It was a show of respect, a nonverbal acknowledgement of superiority, which didn’t make sense to her — she isn’t the one who tamed a Hound or, apparently, kept a Myst under her thumb. Just how many monsters does this guy have living on the premises? And how on earth is he controlling them? Georgie doesn’t see any brands or bonds on the Hound, and she’s pretty sure you can’t domesticate a Myst… Maybe that’s what the fairy ring is for? 

Melanie’s voice brings her from her thoughts. “Do you mind if we go inside? I’d like something warm to drink after all that.”

“Oh- yes, I’m so sorry. Absolutely! Please, come in, and we can discuss the- um, well.” Here, Martin blushes. It’s a bright spot against the dreary cool backdrop of his home, covered in gentle mist and greenery. “I have to admit that, ah, the letter didn’t actually specify what kind of creature you were bringing? Where- where is it, by the way?”

“Here, in this crystal,” Georgie tells him, touching the stone resting around her neck. It was originally a pure blue lace agate, though Jon stained it black when Gertrude had bound him to it. “He’s named Jon, so I’ve been using masculine terms with him lately, and he doesn’t seem to mind.”

“Okay, okay. And Jon is a…?”

Martin leads them inside. His cottage is surprisingly spacious. The kitchen and dining room are the largest of them all, at least on the first floor, and the two women get comfortable at a table while Martin starts a pot of tea. 

“He’s an ancient creature called an Archivist,” Georgie explains. As she speaks, she pulls some books and parchments from her pack. “I’ve brought a couple things you can look over, but it’s mostly old texts, and there are some discrepancies. Gertrude said there hasn’t been an Archivist sighting in the last hundred or so years.” 

“What, really?” Martin peeks from around a partition, looking very surprised. “I’m- I don’t know a ton about some monsters, but it always seems very difficult for one to hide for so long. Are Archivists… dangerous?”

“Not really, I think,” Georgie says, “but again, we don’t really have a lot of solid information on them. There’s not even a lot to learn from old books. Based on what they say, Archivists are hard to find and even harder-pressed to tell you anything about themselves.”

“So they’re fairly sapient?” 

“I think so. The one we’ve found, Jon, he’s able to communicate. He seems to have a bit of personality as well, but I have no real idea how much his way of thinking is like ours.”

Martin brings their tea out. It’s just warm enough to soothe the last of Georgie’s nerves, and both she and Melanie let out deeply satisfied sighs on their first sips. It’s very good tea, a unique blend Georgie couldn't name. Martin seems very pleased with their reactions, sitting down on the other side of the table with a wide smile on his face. “Enjoy it? I can give you some bundles with the leaves on your way out.”

“Definitely,” Melanie says, closing her eyes and soaking in the warmth. Georgie nods, thanking him.

“So, this Jon fellow,” Martin says, his smile fading into something a bit more cautious. “Is there any particular reason you need me to look after him? I know I’m sort of, um, known for taking in monsters, at this point-”

“That’s an understatement,” Melanie interrupts with a smirk. “I’ve been a warlock for less than a year and even I’ve heard about you. Your name travels far, Mr. Blackwood.” 

“Oh, please.” Martin waves a hand, clearly flustered. “Just, just call me Martin, won’t you?”

“Then I’m Melanie.” Turning to Georgie she says, “Can you bring him out of there already? I’m dying to see this thing.” She adds to Martin, “She didn’t let me see him at all, even while he was at her place.”

“He was not one for company,” Georgie protests. She carefully unties the necklace and places it in the center of the table. “I’d recommend attuning to the crystal, first.”

“I have to attune to this?”

“Gertrude did something, some sort of spell,” Georgie explains. “She wanted to make sure Jon couldn’t hurt you — yes, I know what I said, but it’s a precaution. Gertrude’s practical like that. She didn’t know about your setup, either.”

“Yeah, what’s up with that anyway?” Melanie askes. “Is that a fairy ring outside?”

“Oh! Not, not exactly — I mean, I suppose you could call it something similar. Peter made it.”

“Is it for keeping things in or out?” 

Martin huffs a laugh, looking a bit shy as he says, “Both, sort of? I’ve kept some pretty, uh, dangerous creatures here before.”

“What’s with the past-tense? You know you have a giant cat outside ready to maul poor passers by, right?”

“Daisy wouldn’t do that!” Martin insisted, though he didn’t sound completely convinced. “Or, well, even if she would, that’s what the ring is for. It doesn’t technically work in those terms, strictly… It’s more like Peter has the ability to sense what is inside the ring, and knows when anything enters. Then he can use his fog to keep things where he wants them. Peter has to let you in or out.” 

“And this Peter fellow, he’s a Myst, right?”

“That’s right! You’re familiar? Most people this far inland haven’t heard of them.”

“Lots of spooky stories have Mysts in them,” Melanie says, a bit haughty. 

Martin tilts his head in clear confusion at her tone, but Georgie takes this chance to interrupt. “In any case, you should attune to the crystal. It’s charmed to ensure the Archivist can’t in any way hurt or coerce you with his magic. He’ll also be bound to it, a bit, so as long as you keep it close, you’ll know roughly where he is and he can’t go too far from it.”

“Seems a bit… stifling,” Martin says. He reaches out with one hand, fingers grazing the silver chain attached to the stone. “Is he really so troublesome?”

“It’s… complicated.” Georgie pushes the books and parchment to him. “You see, given he’s such a rare find, so to speak, the coven is hoping you’ll keep a close eye on him and keep a record during his rehabilitation. There’s a lot we just don’t know about Archivists. This is the first time in a very long while anyone has had the chance to observe one and keep a clean record of the details.” 

“Lucky,” Melanie grumbles, but Georgie ignores her. She watches Martin, who stares down at the small pile of books and supplies with clear trepidation. 

“I know it’s a lot to ask, Martin, but this is information we could all really use.” 

“...What happens once he’s better?” Martin’s voice seems carefully even, though he meets Georgie’s gaze. She’s a bit surprised to find she had no idea what he’s thinking, exactly. That face had been so open and expressive just a moment ago. “Does the coven have plans for him?” 

Georgie thinks it over before answering. “Honestly? I’m not sure. I wouldn’t be surprised if Gertrude wanted to… negotiate with Jon, if he’s capable of something like that. She might ask him to stay with us, to tell us the things he knows — you’ll see in the books what I mean.”

“So we can say your main interest is having him cared for until he recovers,” Martin says, “and having the caretaker — me — keep a close eye on him and record any important information?” 

“Yes, more or less. Specifically, we’d like to know more about the history of his species, if possible. We also want to know more about his nature, perhaps even his motivations.”

“Motivations?”

“The books say that Archivists only ever want to learn new things,” Georgie says, putting a hand on one of the small volumes. “But some of the coven have heard stories that Archivists can do things like invade dreams or eat memories. It would help a lot if we could get any sort of clarification on those sorts of details.” 

“Ah, okay. I think I understand.” Martin looks down at the crystal again, clearly deep in thought. Georgie shares a glance with Melanie. She’d been sure the man wouldn’t deny their request to keep Jon, but it seemed like he had concerns beyond the basics. “I suppose I just have to make it clear… Once a creature is brought into my custody, there’s no… That is to say, it’s not up to you or me what happens with them once they’re better. Do you understand?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Melanie askes, leaning forward a bit, brows furrowed. 

“It means that if this Jon fellow wants to leave once he’s healthy enough, I’m not going to stop him,” Martin tells them. Georgie notices he’s already placed his hand fully on the silver chain, fingertips just brushing the darkened crystal. “I understand your coven wanting to know more about him, about his species, but if he doesn’t want to go back with you later on… I’m not going to make him. And I don’t expect this to be the case,” Martin adds, his voice taking on more of its usual warmth, though something just beneath it is steady and dark, “but if Jon decides he wants to stay here for a while, and his wishes aren’t respected by you and yours… Well, I’d just prefer we establish it won’t be a problem sooner rather than later.” 

Melanie actually scoffs at this, seeming mildly surprised at the underlying threat, but Georgie merely shrugs. She thinks about that Myst outside, with his fog that could chill you to the bone, could lead you off your path; she thinks about the Hound stalking around outside, how it had been with them in that fog. She considers this large cottage and its many levels and its tower, all the spaces that could hold and hide things. And she remembers Martin’s little sign outside. _Witch in Training_ it had said, despite his age and obvious accomplishments in the realm of magic. _Healer_ it had said, with more confidence, perhaps even pride. 

So Georgie nods, and she agrees to Martin’s terms, and she promises in Gertrude’s stead that the coven will do the same. And then Martin’s smile is back, full and bright and warm, and Georgie no longer feels worried over Jon’s well-being once she was gone.


	3. Releasing the Archivist

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Martin releases the Archivist from his crystal to have a chat.

Martin sends his guests off with tea leaves and a smile. He even has Peter clear a path for them through the fog, parting the heavy, cold cloak of mist so they can pass through without discomfort. 

Once they’ve disappeared from sight, the witch heaves a sigh, his posture deflating. “Gods, this is going to be a whole thing, isn’t it?” he asks no one. The strip of land revealed by Peter slowly disappears once more. Martin feels a gust of wind come his way, toying with his loose fringe. 

“Alright, well… I suppose I’ll go speak with Basira before anything else,” Martin says. “Keep an eye on things will you, Peter?”

A gull calls out from the mist as Martin turns and heads back up the steps. He’s almost to the door when he notices Daisy staring at him from a slight distance. “Oh! Daisy, do you want to come along?”

The Hound clambers up the path. Martin can tell she’s trying to be careful, but her broad shoulders still manage to knock against pots and garden equipment. 

“Careful of your claws,” Martin says a bit nervously, and tries to ignore Daisy’s disgruntled huff. She can retract her claws, of course, but sometimes she forgets. 

Once again, he’s grateful for the spells shaping his house, keeping it wide and sturdy enough for creatures as big as Daisy to move around inside. The creak of the wooden stairs always makes him flinch, but they haven’t given way beneath their feet yet. He trusts them to carry himself and Daisy up to the third floor. 

The library was a very recent addition, built only within the last year. Martin had needed quite a bit of help with it, but by then he’d developed such a good relationship with the nearest village, carpenters and witches came to assist him free of charge. It had been fun, almost, seeing familiars he’d helped, listening to the older witches tell their stories as they assisted the non-magical folk with construction. And Basira had certainly appreciated having a place to store their ever-growing collection of books. 

Martin had always loved books, and was grateful for being able to read at all, but his collection was something of a happy accident. He hadn’t known before moving away from home — hadn’t been taught — but those in the business of magic tended to view books as a fair form of currency. They were often sent as gifts or used to trade for other resources. Over the years, Martin has been given many books by grateful magic users who had sought his help. On more than one occasion, a creature he had once rehabilitated came back with books as a belated thank-you gift. When it became evident Martin was running out of room to store them, the newest floor of his cottage had been built. 

Really, it only served partially as space for the books. The other half of it was almost exclusively for Basira, including a feeding area that allowed blood and waste to drain outside as well as a huge perch. That had been done by the witches of the Whispering Growth, sewn from a special seed and formed with their magic. Its roots had been incorporated into the cottage, warping and twisting into its foundations. It reminds Martin a bit of Jane, the seamlessness of it, how one thing so easily became part of another. 

Basira’s on her perch now, inspecting a tome propped up on the podium before her. The podium is tall, much taller than Martin; grooves had been carved into dark wood to allow him to climb up when necessary. “Good afternoon, Basira.”

“And to you, Martin.” Basira’s beak, long and elegant, barely moves as she speaks. The brilliant blue and violet of her plumage shimmers in faint shafts of light that fall from above. There’s a skylight available for Basira should she have to exit, but it’s closed now, and she swiftly moves downward rather than up. Her talons are huge, dark, and curved, longer than Martin’s forearm each. He’s grown past the desire to put distance between himself and his companions, but still… no reason to get in the way of those. Martin steps to the side as casually as possible, making room for Basira to pass him and reach Daisy. “And you, Daisy. We had visitors, didn’t we?”

The Hound doesn’t reply in a way Martin can understand, but Basira must be able to decipher vague grunts and grumbles. She turns to eye at Martin. “Two warlocks?” 

“They came to ask a favor,” Martin explains. He fingers the crystal now tied around his neck. “They surrendered custody of a monster to me.”

“A new charge?” 

“Yeah. Apparently he was being kept and tortured, I think, by a wizard.” 

“And what sort is it?” 

“It’s called an Archivist,” Martin says, his voice lilting up into a question at the end. Basira merely tilts her head, a bit too far to seem natural, which tells Martin what he already suspected. “They’re apparently very old creatures that haven’t been spotted in ages. A hundred years or more, they said.”

“Well, that’s decently fascinating,” Basira says. “Are you expected to know how to care for such a thing?”

“That’s where you come in,” Martin tells her with a cheeky smile, and hangs his bag of books and parchments on a small branch growing from Basira’s perch. “Here’s all the material they gave me. I haven’t looked it over yet, but I figured you’d get more use out of it. I’ll read once you’re done.”

“Alright.” Basira, who had been inspecting Daisy’s fur for parasites, scratches the Hound’s chin with one claw as she twists her neck to face Martin at the same time. That used to be quite unsettling. Martin’s used to it now, but still, he feels a sympathetic twinge in his own neck. He _knows_ that Basira has bones in there, she really shouldn’t be allowed to move like that! “So where is this Archivist? Oh — the crystal?”

“Yeah. I’ve got to attune to it, so it might be a few days before I can let him out safely.”

“That will be more than enough time for me to do some studying.”

* * *

It takes three days, in fact, for Martin to attune to the crystal. Such a thing really isn’t his strong suit — one of his many weak points, actually. Attuning to objects or creatures is all about connection; it requires a degree of willful vulnerability to work. Martin has been strongly affiliated with the Lonely since he was a child, so such rituals have always been more than a little difficult for him to accomplish. It isn’t impossible, not when he tries hard enough, but by the third day he’s more than a little drained from his efforts. 

It doesn’t help that as he forges the connecting between himself and the crystal, Martin swears he could sense the Archivist’s grim amusement as his pathetic attempts. How embarrassing — he hasn’t even met the creature properly yet, and already it’s obvious how Martin is totally out of his depth with all this. 

When the time comes, Martin climbs up into the tower. It’s here he sequesters his more important magical artifacts, the things that help him with intensive tasks. He has to be very careful when working with things like charms or medicines, and it helps to have a private space that’s well-saturated with his magic. 

So, with great care, Martin draws a circle in the center of the room, keeping himself inside. He then lights two candles, one yellow and one pink, left to burn as he summons the Archivist from his crystal. 

If Martin has successfully attuned with the crystal, then no harm will come to him if he was in the circle with the Archivist. If he’s failed, well, it will be better to know as soon as possible. He’ll have to break the circle to escape any attacks or tantrums, but Georgie had sounded pretty sure of herself when she’d called the Archivist (mostly) harmless. Martin also has no doubt that, should the Archivist escape the tower, he’ll be no danger to any of the other creatures, and there won’t be any worry of him escaping beyond Peter’s ring. 

Martin closes his eyes and concentrates, letting his mind bleed into a more general awareness of his surroundings. He breathes in the smoke of the candles, listens to the wind outside. It helps him feel seen, surrounded and cared for, which soothes some of his nerves. 

It’s with a wordless request that Martin beckons the Archivist to slip out of the crystal. He keeps his eyes closed as the creature does so, though Martin can feel the dense dark of him slipping through his fingers, gently clasped as they are over the stone. 

The Archivist is, perhaps, less impressive than Martin had been imagining. Hardly more than a smoldering spot of darkness, with wisps of smoke wafting from him. He has one purple eye in the center of where his head might be, though not even that seems fixed in place. It’s a bit disorienting to look at him, honestly, and Martin has to blink a few times to keep his vision from swimming. 

They’re both quiet for a bit. Martin stares, curious, waiting to see if the Archivist will speak first. Georgie had said he was capable of speaking in their language, though often disinclined. Now seems to be one of those times. He merely stares back at Martin, that eye never once blinking. 

Finally, Martin’s knees begin to ache from his position, and he slowly adjusts them so he can sit more comfortably. The Archivist flinches as he does so, rippling in a strange manner. “It’s okay,” Martin offers in a soothing voice, pausing his movement. “I’m not getting up… Just crossing my legs, is all. There’s no need to worry.”

The Archivist makes no sound, but he does shuffle away from Martin a bit. That’s fine. Martin finishes crossing his legs and massages them as he tries to think of what to say.

“Georgie told me you were able to talk,” Martin says eventually. “If that’s so, would you mind helping me out? I just have to ask you a couple of questions. And- if you’d rather not speak to me, that’s fine too. You understand me enough to give yes or no responses, right? That would help a lot.” 

The Archivist is nearly at the other end of the circle now, but that eye stays on Martin. Slowly, very slowly, his form changes until he has a distinct head, and he nods once. 

“Great! Great.” Martin smiles and asks, “First question: Georgie told you what was going to happen, right? That she was bringing you to stay with someone new for a while?”

A nod, sharp and clear. Martin nods in return. “That’s good. Did she tell you anything about me personally? Like my name?”

Jon shakes his head. 

“Alright then, let me introduce myself; I’m Martin Blackwood. I’ve been taking care of magical creatures for the last several years. I’m not sure exactly how aware of things you were when you were in that crystal… but you’ll be sharing the cottage with a couple other creatures. They’re… good! Um, nice- nice enough.” Martin chuckles nervously, toying with his hair as he goes on. “That is to say, it’s not just me and you here, so you should be conscientious while you’re staying here, alright? None of us want any trouble — least of all me! — so just be polite and if you’d rather, keep to yourself. 

“Now, did Georgie tell you about how this crystal situation works?”

Jon nods again, slowly, and something tells Martin he’s giving the witch a _look_ , though absolutely nothing about the Archivist has changed. Martin blushes anyway. 

“Now, you’ll be attuned to the crystal, but you have free reign over the house and should be able to go wherever you wish within Peter’s ring,” Martin explains. Something about Jon twitches, and it makes Martin think of Daisy’s ear flicking. “Feel free to explore and go where you wish. Georgie said you might be keen on trying to escape, so, um, please don’t! You won’t be able to get past Peter anyway. I promise once you’re fully recovered, you’re more than welcome to be on your way. But I have a responsibility to keep you safe and help you get to that point, so please, it will be easier for the both of us if you let me do my job without too much trouble… Does that sound fair?” 

Jon had shifted during Martin’s little speech, twisting from one angle to another, that purple eye sparkling with emotions Martin can’t discern. Through his connection to the crystal, though, he feels some sense of… surprise, maybe. Perhaps Jon hadn’t been expecting to get such a long leash? It doesn’t seem like much to offer, really, but Martin is doing what he can. It’s important for monsters to feel safe and comfortable; he had learned _that_ very quickly. Most monsters aren’t eager to let you help them otherwise. 

“Alright… I’m going to break the circle,” Martin says, slowly getting to his feet. Jon watches him, his form stretching upwards, looking attentive. “Once again, you’re free to go where you wish once I do. But please behave?” 

Jon stares, waiting, and Martin sighs. The simplest and safest way to break the circle is to blow out the candles. As soon as he’s snuffed the yellow one, only half-melted, Jon is dashing away. It’s quite a sight, seeing him move, not unlike a snake slithering, though the motion is tighter and faster. He doesn’t even have to wait for Martin to open the door, slipping beneath the crack at the bottom. 

Martin shakes his head. He can feel through the crystal how Jon is flying down the tower stairs; faintly, he can feel the Archivist's intent. Jon wants to find an exit and escape, wants very much to find a gap or loophole that will allow him freedom from Martin’s custody. 

The witch rubs his fingertips against the dark crystal resting on his chest. This is going to be a very interesting rehabilitation process.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, I want to say thanks so much for all the comments this fic has gotten already! I'm really glad you guys are enjoying the setting so much~ I'm so glad to finally be able to share some if it with you, and I'm excited to show you even more in the future! 
> 
> As I stated before, though, this will be the last chapter for a while. After my current long-fic is wrapped up, I'll be able to focus on this one more. So hopefully not so soon in the future, I can post on some sort of schedule. I don't know when that will be though, so once again, if you'd like to keep tabs on future updates, don't forget to subscribe!

**Author's Note:**

> CWs:   
> > jon (the archivist) is implied to have suffered long-term abuse under jonah's care; he comes out of it largely unharmed, but malnourished  
> > jon exhibits paranoid behavior while living at georgie's


End file.
